“Yes, but we rather hate to get licked here at Manning,” demurred Stuart, frowning. “And Walsenburg hasn’t beaten us but once in four years. I—I don’t think the fellows would take very kindly to it, sir.”
“Hatred of defeat is a credited aversion, Harven, but it isn’t always wise to win. Sometimes the cost is too great. I never like to bring a team along too fast in October. Usually you pay for it later. Well, we can deal with the Walsenburg game when it comes. Tell me about Lansing High School. That comes first, doesn’t it? Yes, well, what do they usually do?”
Afterwards they discussed the players. Mr. Haynes seemed particularly anxious to learn about the linemen. “We’re strong at the center, you say?” he asked. “‘Got veterans there,’ have we?”
“Yes, sir, and corkers! Cutts, the big red-haired fellow, you know; and Beeman and Towne for guards. And we’re fixed for tackles, too, Mr. Haynes. Jack Brewton’s one of the best in the business, and Ned Thurston’s nearly as good. ‘Thirsty’s’ been playing tackle two years already. Jack was in every game but one last season and he’s a whale.”
“Sounds good. I liked the looks of Brewton immensely. He’s the ideal build for tackle. Cutts seemed a trifle heavy for a center, though. But perhaps he’s a bit overweight. I have a weakness for fast men in the center, Harven.”
“Well, Joe isn’t so slow, and I guess he’s due to drop eight or ten pounds in the next week. You’ll like him when you see him work, sir.”
The subject of the abolishment of the training table was not introduced by the coach and so it didn’t come up for discussion. After the other had taken his departure, Stuart rehearsed the evening and uneasily came to the conclusion that so far as firmness was concerned he had not been an overwhelming success. Still, there hadn’t been much chance for firmness. He consoled himself with the promise to maintain a watchful eye on the coach and be on guard against that gentleman’s smooth diplomacy.
Practice went very well. Other candidates showed up day by day, and on Sunday, Fred Locker, the manager, returned. Stuart was glad to see him, for Fred was a hard-working, invaluable chap and, moreover, a firm adherent of Stuart’s; and now and then the latter felt dimly that, should it ever come to a show-down between him and the new coach, he would need all the backing he could get. There was no doubt that Mr. Haynes had found much favor with the football squad. There was constant proof of it. They had already conferred a nickname on him and, save to his face, he was called “Hop,” that being a favorite ejaculation of his used on all sorts of occasions. He didn’t join the players at meals in Lyceum House, but none seemed to feel himself affronted, although Mr. Craig, the former coach, had always presided at the head of the table. Mr. Haynes had found quarters just across the river, convenient to the school, and on Sunday evening Stuart and Fred Locker and The Laird met there and went very thoroughly into many questions.
The fall term began Tuesday, and on Monday the influx of returning students began. Rumor had it that the school was to be filled this year, which meant an enrollment of three hundred and fifty. Not since the opening of Byers, the latest of the new dormitories, had the school held a full quota, and the report was pleasing to Stuart, among others, since, theoretically at least, the more students there were the more football players there would be. He hoped that among the new fellows entering the senior or upper middle classes there would be a few experienced ones, perhaps even a star or two. To anticipate a trifle, however, Stuart’s hope proved vain, for among the newcomers there was but one fellow of first team caliber. Haley Leonard, entering the upper middle class, had weight and a year’s experience behind him and, after being miscast for part of the season in a rushline position, was relegated to the backfield and made good as fullback.
On Tuesday afternoon, one of the numerous carriages that rattled to and fro between the station and the school that day, stopped in front of Lacey Hall and three boys emerged. Two of them hustled forth, paid the driver and were quickly swallowed up in the entrance to the dormitory. But the third member of the trio alighted more slowly, and it is with this third youth that we have to do. First the end of a pair of crutches came into sight. Then, the rubbered tips secure on the pavement, a boy of sixteen swung himself nimbly out. Seen without his crutches, there was nothing in his appearance to suggest physical disability. He looked to be normally strong and healthy, with the usual number of arms and legs, a well-developed torso, and a good-looking, clean-cut countenance wherein a pair of very deep blue eyes constituted the most attractive feature. Settling with the driver, he accepted the bag which the latter handed to him and, with surprising dexterity, took himself and bag across the walk and up the steps. Once inside, however, his progress became slower, for the steep stone stairway presented difficulties when a suitcase hung against the right-hand crutch. Had any one appeared he would have given over his burden, but as it was he made the ascent alone, and, at last gaining the second floor, swung himself along more quickly than another would have walked to the portal of Number 12. Inside the room the expression of pleasure faded from his face, for there was no one there to greet him. Setting down his bag, he looked at his watch and understood.